Twin Speex: Time Traitors Book II

by Padgett Lively

  “For God’s sake, stop your mewling!” The woman looked around furtively.

  At the mention of her mother, Ettie froze barely breathing with her back pressed hard against the marble monument.

  “Mewling!” Charlie replied with suppressed fury, “We are talking about murder!”

  “Something you apparently were not so squeamish about at one time,” she shot back at him, while wrenching her arm out of his grip. “Just do what you are told, and we may both get out of this alive.”

  She swept past him, making a show of admiring the gardens while heading for the exit. Charlie engaged in no such niceties and strode within a bare two feet of Ettie as he hurriedly left the cemetery.

  Ettie finally let out her pent-up breath and slumped back against the obelisk. She relaxed for a split second before standing up straight again. The woman! She needed to find out who she was.

  Ettie looked quickly around and saw her back as she passed through the gate. Throwing caution to the wind, she sped after her. Unfortunately in her haste, Ettie had incorrectly determined that the woman had come to the cemetery alone.

  From a discreet distance, a guard had observed Ettie closely. He had noted her rapt expression as she overheard the private conversation and hung back from following his employer. When Ettie rounded the gate, he caught her roughly by the shoulder and threw her against the wall of the alleyway. The back of her head hit hard against the brickwork. Her vision blurred, and she slumped to the ground as the guard tried to jerk her roughly to her feet.

  “Hey! Stop! What do you think you’re doing?”

  The girl stood breathless at the cemetery entrance, skirts bunched up in clutched hands as if she had lifted them to run across the grassy enclosure. An angry, determined expression thinned her full lips, and she strode over declaring, “How dare you assault this boy! It is outside your purview to take such drastic action!”

  She knelt down and reached her hand to touch gently the back of Ettie’s head. Ettie hissed at the pressure, and the girl drew her hand away to reveal blood staining her kid glove.

  “He was followin’ me mistress,” the man replied belligerently.

  The girl looked down the alleyway toward Second Avenue and retorted sarcastically, “Well if so, it wasn’t too closely, for I don’t see anyone, much less your mistress.”

  By this time, the other girls had gathered at the gate and were whispering intently to each other behind gloved hands. Their guard approached and quickly surveyed the situation.

  “Can I be of assistance, miss?” he said while eyeing the other man.

  “Yes, Jasper, thank you. This man… guard, attacked this boy for following his employer, and now the boy is injured,” she replied, holding up her hand to show the bloodstain. “We need to get him some medical help.”

  “No, really… I’m fine.” Ettie struggled to stand only to lean heavily against the wall as her head swam.

  The girl grasped her arm to steady her, and Ettie nodded her thanks. She responded with a dimpled smile, and Ettie recognized the girl who had given her the city guide.

  Ettie saw the earpiece worn by the girls’ guard blink blue and knew he had already alerted the police. It wouldn’t be long now. The other guard had seen it too and fled down the alleyway and out onto the crowded sidewalk.

  “After him, Jasper!” the girl cried.

  Jasper looked at her calmly. “Can’t, miss. Wouldn’t be right leaving you girls alone. The police will be here soon. Anyway, I got a good look at him, and it’s for certain sure he isn’t with any of the guard guilds in the city.”

  She looked at him questioningly.

  He tapped the insignia sewn onto the sleeve of his jacket. It bore the embroidered design of a citadel with two lightning bolts crossed over it.

  “There are five guilds operating in the city. Perhaps none so fine as my own Castle Guards, but not one of them would accept a man like that,” he concluded disdainfully.

  From the group of girls, a tall, willowy brunette detached herself and approached saying in the wispy tones of a well-bred lady, “Clementine, come away. If you must be getting into these uncouth situations, at the very least, try to reduce the embarrassment to the rest of us.”

  Clementine barely suppressed an eye roll. “We’re not in a ballroom, Helena. None of the ton will even know I stopped to help this boy.”

  Helena leaned in close to Clementine and whispered fiercely in her ear, “Stopped to help? You practically flew across the grounds yelling, your skirts almost over your head. If you think none of those tattle-mongers over there…” She indicated the group of girls by the gate. “…will pass up the opportunity of spreading your little misadventure about—”

  Ettie, who had been listening to this exchange, interrupted, “It’s quite all right. I’m feeling much better. Thank you so much for your timely intervention, but I really don’t need the police or medical—”

  It was too late. Ettie saw the flashing lights and the police cruiser screech to a halt at the corner. A uniformed officer got out and, to her surprise, a plainclothes inspector. She drew her breath in sharply and knew she had to act quickly.

  Pulling the cap off her head, she said hurriedly, “I think you have all been laboring under the gravest misconception. I’m afraid the blow to my head rather addled my brain, or I would have corrected you earlier.”

  The girls and guard stood dumbfounded as the police approached. Ettie recognized immediately the tall, gaunt figure of Inspector Hamilton. His double-breasted woolen overcoat hung open, and a black scarf was loosely tied about his neck.

  He stopped in front of the four grouped together against the wall, and his eyes were intently trained on Ettie.

  “Miss Speex, I’ve been looking for you.”

  Twelve

  HER HEAD WOUND cleaned and stitched, Ettie sat in the hospital waiting room. It was unlike any she was accustomed to. Instead of stark lighting and utilitarian plastic chairs, the room was decorated in the warm tones and comfortable furnishings one might find in a private club at the turn of the twentieth century.

  It was late, and no one else was about. Her head hurt like the very devil, and she sat with eyes closed leaning back against the cushions of an overstuffed armchair.

  She heard the swish of soft fabric and opened her eyes to find Clementine—Clem, as she preferred to be called—standing in front of her with two cups of hot tea.

  “Sorry, hope I didn’t wake you.” Clem sat down in the chair opposite and handed Ettie one of the cups.

  Ettie took it and replied, “Thanks. And, no, I wasn’t sleeping. I don’t think I could get much rest with this headache.”

  “Can’t they give you anything for the pain?”

  “Yes. But then it would make me sleep, and… well, I really don’t want to until I get some news.” She smiled ruefully. “So I guess the pain is good for something.”

  Clem returned her smile and sipped gingerly at the hot liquid.

  When Inspector Hamilton had identified Ettie as Odette Speex, a ripple of exclamations swept through the group of girls standing at the gate. Ettie was still unused to her status as minor celebrity in this timeline. The fact that she was a soloist at the King George Ballet and the current paramour of the infamous Earl of Westchester made her a person of intense, if not entirely respectable, interest. Even Helena had inched a bit closer to be privy to any small dollop of gossip that might be forthcoming.

  No one besides Ettie seemed to have noticed the earl’s presence at the cemetery. All the same, this story was definitely going to make it into the tabloids. That Odette Speex was accosted near Second Avenue essentially dressed up as a boy, would alert Charlie to her activities and, more importantly, the woman he was meeting and whomever else was involved in the plot.

  It had surprised everybody when, instead of taking an incident report or making an arrest, Inspector Hamilton had said in an unexpectedly gentle tone, “Miss Speex, your father was attacked this afternoon and is in serious cond
ition at Saint Mary’s. Officer Guzman will stay and take statements. If you’ll come with me, please.”

  They sped away in the police cruiser, and Ettie couldn’t help but be reminded of the last time she had ridden with him to a hospital. She had only hoped that it wouldn’t be to say good-bye to her only surviving parent.

  “I’m sorry… what?” Ettie looked up jerkily from her reverie, causing a sharp pain to shoot through her head. “Ouch.” She reached up to massage the back of her neck, tentatively touching the bandaged stitches.

  “I said, I saw the Earl of Westchester at the cemetery,” Clem repeated.

  Ettie looked at her steadily for a moment before saying, “Do you think anyone else noticed?”

  “No.” Clem flashed her dimpled smile. “Believe me, if Helena or the rest of the gang had seen him, there would have been a multitude of furtively cast glances, overloud laughter, and perhaps a turned ankle or two in his vicinity.”

  Ettie smiled. The girl was amusing. She had shown up at the hospital a mere twenty minutes or so after Ettie, apparently over the strenuous objections of Helena, who seemed to be the self-appointed ringleader of their particular set of friends.

  “Also, I heard the others give their statements to Officer Guzman. No one mentioned him, or the woman.”

  “You are certainly very observant,” Ettie replied, sipping her tea.

  “One has to be as a poor relation,” she explained, a touch of acid in her usually chipper tone, “and a mixup.”

  Ettie looked at the girl with a furrowed brow. She had heard that term bandied about, typically as a pejorative descriptor of the lower classes. It referred to the general mixed-race background of the majority of the poor. The aristocracy and upper classes worked hard to maintain as much of a pale complexion among their number as was biologically possible. Ettie found it nauseating.

  She looked hard at Clem and could only see a very pretty girl with large, dark almond-shaped eyes, brown hair, and skin tinged with olive. “You look just like the others to me.”

  “It was my grandmother. She was the foreign fruit that polluted the orchard, as I’ve heard some not so delicately put it,” she replied with weary bitterness. “My great-grandfather was vice-ambassador to China. He took his whole family with him to the posting. His youngest son, my grandfather, fell in love with one of the Chinese nannies they employed for the younger children.” Clem smiled with painful self-awareness. “She wasn’t even a noblewoman. Something I’m never allowed to forget.”

  She was silent a moment before continuing, “He was cast off and stayed in China after the rest of the family returned to New York. Thing is, he was quite brilliant and became a very wealthy trader. Mother used to tell me stories of their travels, the parties my grandparents would throw… it was all quite lavish.”

  She stood up and wandered over to the large picture window that looked down on the front steps of the hospital. “My grandparents died when their ship sank off the coast of Japan. Mother was alone and very rich, so naturally the family summoned her back to New York. She was married off to a distant cousin, my father,” Clem said with distaste. “He used her money to prop up a crumbling estate and eventually drank himself to death when I was still little. He wasn’t a nice man.” She gave a dismissive little wave of her hand. “It’s all very cliché, I suppose.”

  “Your mother?” Ettie asked.

  “Oh, she’s still living and quite well.” Clem turned from the window and walked back to sit down. “If I had my way, I would be with her now.”

  “Where is that?”

  “On a horse farm in Pennsylvania. She bought it with what was left of her inheritance… what wasn’t lost with my father’s estate.”

  “What is keeping you here?”

  Her smile was genuine as she answered, “My aunt and uncle… not really my aunt and uncle, I just call them that. Uncle Matthew was a great friend of my grandfather’s. They were sent off to study abroad together in England. This was before the family left for China. They stayed in touch over the years, and he and his wife, Abigail, were my mother’s only true friends when she came here.”

  She gave a delicate little huff of disbelief. “Aunt Abigail feels certain she can get me ‘respectably affianced.’ But while I don’t look like a mixup, everyone knows my history. And unlike my mother, I have no money to speak of.”

  “So why stay?” Ettie repeated, fascinated by this little archaic family drama.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t want to hurt their feelings. They’re quite old now and never had any children of their own. It really wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to put up with Reginald. Even Helena is mostly bearable.”

  “Reginald?”

  “Uncle Matthew’s nephew’s son, Reginald Winifred Ravensdale,” she intoned his name by pinching her nose and assuming a snooty accent, and then dropped her hand to her lap as they both laughed.

  Ettie looked at her inquiringly. “Is Reginald so very bad?”

  Clem raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You haven’t heard of him?” she uttered incredulously. When Ettie shook her head, she informed her, “He’s the catch of the season. The Duke of Easterly, his father, is extremely rich and powerful, and Reginald is very sought after. He’s the eldest son and the next duke, so he is a marquis.”

  She made a disgusted little face and continued, “He’s only a couple of years older than I, but he’s so full of his own importance. He is always telling me how to go on. The nerve… when he gets up to all sorts of larks and scrapes… but of course, he’s a man, and society indulges him. It’s all to his credit that he’s so wild and daring…” She paused to take a breath from this unexpectedly heated diatribe, her cheeks tinged with red.

  “Being my nearest ‘relation,’ he looks on me as his ‘duty.’ I’m to call him Cousin Reginald and be grateful that he stoops to notice me!” Her bloodstained gloves had been discarded, and Ettie saw her hands balled into fists. “So he comes around to lend me the consequence of his presence and never fails to stand up with me at a ball or dance. Of course, this just puts me out there for people to look at and whisper about.”

  She stopped talking and swallowed hard. Ettie reached over to take her hand. Clem shook her head and returned the pressure of her grasp.

  “Look at me, talking about my petty troubles when your father lies on the brink.”

  Ettie sat up and smiled. “Your story made me forget for a little while.”

  Clem shook her head again in self-reproach. “No. It is unconscionable of me. I didn’t come here to talk of myself.”

  “Why did you come here?” This question had been on Ettie’s mind since the girl’s arrival. She had mentioned being a volunteer at the hospital, and she had been very helpful getting tea, asking for updates from the nurses, and generally seeing to Ettie’s comfort.

  Ettie was grateful for Clem’s intervention at the cemetery and her company. She was unusual for someone of her class, but none of this explained her presence at the hospital late at night with so disreputable a person as Ettie, an act that was sure to be frowned upon by her relations and society in general.

  “Because I recognized the woman Lord Westchester was talking to, and I think you may be in some trouble.”

  Ettie looked at her silently, so she continued, “He was talking to Miss Faith Temple. She’s the personal assistant to Sir Knightly Davis.”

  Ettie almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of someone called “Sir Knightly,” but sobered upon remembering that the Knightly Davis from her own timeline was a rather scary zealot and here was very likely in a leadership position among the conspirators. For it was clear from what Ettie had overheard, that neither Charlie nor this Faith Temple were calling the shots.

  “What do you know of him?”

  “He’s rather a mysterious person, even among his peers. Uncle Matthew refers to him as ‘shadowy.’ As Minister of Machinery and Technology, he’s very influential. He twice shut down protests at the Academy… the Acade
my of Science and History,” Clem elaborated when Ettie furrowed her brow in confusion. “You must remember… they were demanding greater academic freedom. Several teaching fellows were injured, one was killed. It was really quite brutal. Even Reginald was appalled, and he usually supports the King and Parliament in all matters.”

  Ettie sat back, her mind racing. It would make sense that the mastermind of a time-traveling plot had his hands on mechanical and technological advances. But then Ettie remembered what Charlie had said, “she’s sick… out of control.” He was clearly afraid of someone, and that “someone” was a woman. Knightly Davis may be a big player or even the mastermind, but he clearly wasn’t the only one calling the shots. Ettie had a sinking feeling she already knew just where to find this dangerous woman.

  “Bloody…” Clem whispered under her breath.

  Ettie looked up to see them approached by Inspector Hamilton and a young man she didn’t recognize.

  “Reginald,” Clem hissed with disgust under her breath.

  He wasn’t at all what Ettie had expected. Of average height, he was quite muscular with the broad shoulders and slim hips of an athlete. He was dressed in cricket whites, and his tousled brown curls and reddened cheeks were a clear indication that he had recently come from a game or practice. He was good looking in an ordinary, pleasant sort of way, with rather remarkable deep green eyes. Just now they held a somewhat harassed look, with a touch of wary trepidation.

  The two women stood as they came up.

  “Miss Speex,” Inspector Hamilton pronounced, “I’m told your father is out of surgery and resting comfortably.”

  Ettie breathed a heavy sigh of relief and tears prickled behind her eyes. Clem hugged her and stepped back with a smile.

  “Can I see him?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he replied. “I’ll take you to him, but first Miss Lacy must be getting home. We are fortunate that her escort has arrived.”

  Reginald nodded stiffly to Ettie and said, “I’m pleased that my cousin could offer you some assistance, Miss Speex.” Then turning to Clem and using the same formal tone, “Come along Clementine, your uncle will not be easy until you are home.” It was almost as if a mask had dropped over his face. The irritated and nervous look of a boy unsure of his reception had been replaced by an expression of almost comical entitlement.